


Hold Me Like It's Over

by BlackHogwartsWrites (vashtishacklebolt)



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boxing, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Marriage Proposal, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Teen Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2020-10-24 11:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20705570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vashtishacklebolt/pseuds/BlackHogwartsWrites
Summary: Jughead, Betty, Veronica, and Archie are all just trying to get on with their lives since the deterioration of their friendship after the end of senior year. This oneshot finds us in New York City, where unexpected run-ins force them to confront their past. Think of it as a kind of epilogue. Part 2 is up! ***Written pre-Season 4!***





	1. Chapter 1

Jughead gripped the subway pole with one hand, the other in his pocket, looking up at an ad for a boxing match to take place at Madison Square Garden the following evening, as he rode the L train to Bushwick from his job at a coffee shop on the Lower East Side. 

One fighter looked familiar. Could it really be Mad Dog, the King of Riverdale, State and Regional Heavyweight Champion? A series of images flashed through Jughead's mind: a young man with promise, a future. His crop of fiery red hair, his face brightening over a guitar, on the football field, but also, the darkness that descended over that young man, over his life, when a drug kingpin came to town, when a family man became a serial killer, when a cult moved in.

Jughead shut his eyes fruitlessly against the flood of memories that now rushed in. He couldn't think about his former best friend without thinking of her. A girl with blonde hair and wide green eyes and legs for days. A girl who had the power to be so many things at once: a cheerleader, a writer, a Serpent, a detective, a queen. A beacon of hope.

And her best friend, an unstoppable force, hustling relentlessly, torn between the desire to do good and her mafia family. Jughead opened his eyes. He was almost at Myrtle-Wyckoff. 

He stood by the door, ready to fall into step with the evening rush hour crowd, hurrying to make their post-work grocery trips and their last-minute pharmacy stops before heading home to their cramped apartments, their radiators clanking on into the cool November night.

It had been four years since they'd all parted ways. He wondered where they all were now.

* * *

So they'd finally closed. Betty sighed, turning away from her favorite coffee shop, its windows papered over, its glass door locked at 8 in the morning, having finally succumbed to the climbing rents. She'd have to walk the extra two blocks to the only other coffee shop that sold espresso worth drinking, over on Rivington.

She sighed again. It had been another late night spent working. At least her job paid well, late nights considered. With it she could pay her astronomical rent, which happened to be significantly cheaper, not to mention more private, than the university dorms on West 4th.

She lithely stepped around sidewalk cracks in her platform heels. She'd grown used to them since she'd started her job. Sometimes they felt more comfortable than her Nikes. But she'd thrown on some jeans and her favorite pink corduroy jacket, her beachy waves pulled into a ponytail; last night's glitter still peppered her bare face. The most important thing at that moment was getting caffeinated enough in time for her morning Advanced Reporting class.

She swung the door open to Caffe Morte and went up to the counter. 

"Good morning," she said to the barista. He was a tall pale guy dressed in black. It was appropriate for the coffee shop, the walls of which were painted black; the shop was illuminated by a string of warm edison bulbs.

The barista smiled as he took her order, a latte with a double shot. And she'd have whole milk today, what the hell. She'd treat herself. It had been a long week. She handed him her debit card.

"Betty?"

Betty turned her head, expecting an awkward run-in with some fellow undergrad she didn't normally speak to in class. Instead she saw the last thing she was expecting.

There he was. It had been four years. He wore a stunned expression on his face, and his dark curls still tumbled over his forehead. He wore all black, like his coworker, but his gray whoopee beanie was still perched on his head. Betty felt a sudden lurch, as if she'd just tipped backward in time.

"Jughead?"

Betty quickly rearranged her features into a smile.

Jughead smiled. Betty was keenly aware that they hadn't seen each other since their goodbye, that they hadn't spoken since the summer they'd graduated.

"How are you," she gasped. She felt a twinge in her chest.

"I'm good," he said. "I'm-- yeah, just, you know--"

"Working in a coffee shop? Still writing, I hope," said Betty, glancing away, collecting her debit card from the other barista, slid it back into her wallet.

"Still-- yeah. You?"

"NYU. Journalism." She tilted her head, still grinning awkwardly, still trying to recover from the surprise.

"That's great, Betty," he said, his grin widening. The other barista slid her latte across the counter just as the bell on the door signalled the entrance of a new customer. Betty grabbed her coffee and began to edge toward the door.

"Let's get a drink," said Jughead quickly. Betty awkwardly agreed.

"Same number?" asked Jughead. Betty nodded and slid out the door as yet another customer entered.

Outside the cafe, Betty caught her breath. She could do this, she thought. She could get a drink with her ex. She could be calm and cool and collected. She could catch up with Jughead and be fine. As long as there was no talk of the past.

* * *

Archie subconsciously smoothed down the lapels of his suit again. He needn't-- his suit was sleek, made of a dark cashmere, and it looked like it had come straight from Savile Row. But, as well-tailored as it was, it still felt like a strange skin, still felt like it fit wrong.

He pulled at his silk bowtie. 

"Why are you nervous? I'm the one getting ready for the most important fight of my life," Mad Dog laughed.

Archie grimaced. "Yeah, you're right." He put his hands in his pockets where he fingered something small and round. With a jolt he realized when had been the last time he'd worn the suit.

"Why aren't you more nervous," Archie asked.

"I figure, if I lose, I've gone out there and done my best. I've literally never been better than I am right now, and no one can take that away from me."

"That's a great way to look at it," said Archie, running a hand through his fiery red hair. "I better go down and wait for the hotel manager, he said he wanted a word before we head to the match."

Mad Dog frowned. "Do you know why?"

"Not sure," he shrugged. "It might have something to do with the comped room. I've probably just gotta say thank you, be courteous or whatever, to appease our anonymous benefactor." He broke out in a let's-get-this-over-with grin and Mad Dog nodded, turning to his equipment bag, ready to give it another once-over.

Archie rode the elevator down, all the while considering his position. It had happened fast-- one minute, he'd been running a boxing gym in his hometown Riverdale, occasionally booking matches for his friend Mad Dog, and the next he was managing his friend's career, jetting to Reno, L.A., Miami, watching Mad Dog win fight after fight. They'd put in a lot of work to get here, to get to New York, to get to the championship. Archie's head was still reeling. He caught his reflection in the shining gold panels, and smoothed down his hair.

Archie stepped out of the elevator, into the glittering hall-- black carpet, golden lights-- and headed to the bar. He wasn't sure who he was waiting for, he didn't typically stay in swanky digs like the Lodge-- he and Mad Dog had stayed in motels, on couches and in ShareBnB's for away matches and tournaments. He figured he ought to look for some milquetoast snob in a bellhop uniform or something.

Archie took a seat at the black and gold bar and ordered a whiskey on the rocks.

"Can I see ID, sir," said the bartender, wearing a black velvet vest with gold piping. On his chest was a crest. Archie sighed, handed over his Riverdale ID. As the bartender inspected the ID, Archie squinted at his chest. Encircled by gold curlicues, the letters V and L. Before he could think further on the subject, the bartender nodded once and grabbed a bottle off the shelf. Archie was about to ask who the manager of the hotel was when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, and his jaw dropped.

Standing in front of him was someone he never thought he'd see again. In a glittering evening dress and strappy black heels, her black hair slicked back from her face, her neck, arms and ears dripping with diamonds. Even her lips caught the light.

"Veronica," Archie choked. He turned to face her fully. She was the last thing he was expecting to see. 

"Hello Archie," she said smiling. "I thought I recognized that ginger mop."

"What are you doing here," he asked, sipping from his whiskey in an attempt to gain some quick courage.

"Archie," said Veronica, placing a manicured hand on her hip. No ring, Archie couldn't help but note. "I run this hotel."

Archie choked on his whiskey. "You're the manager?"

"I'm the owner."

"That explains the comped room," Archie croaked.

"When I heard about your match, I wanted to do something nice. I figure I've got some success to spare, so I thought I'd spread it around." Her eyelashes fluttered downwards before she flicked her deep brown eyes back on him.

"And I owe you an apology."

"No, you don't," said Archie quickly.

"Yes, I do," said Veronica. "I mean, you asked me to--"

"And you said no," Archie cut in. "And that was fine, that was it. It was forever ago."

"Archie," Veronica sighed, inching closer. Archie thought he wouldn't be able to take it if she came any closer. "You should know why I couldn't--"

"I've got to go," said Archie, putting his whiskey on the bar. "Mad Dog needs me."

"I'll see you at the match," said Veronica. "Tell Mad Dog I wish him luck," she called after him.

Archie left the bar, and Veronica, behind him as he headed to the elevator. He stuck his hand in his pocket, subconsciously fingering the ring he'd left in there, the last time he'd worn this suit, four years ago.

* * *

In a dive bar in Williamsburg, Betty swung one leg over the other, perched on a stool, sipping from a glass of chilled rose.

She'd spent the whole day taking deep breaths, flicking her pen nervously, picking at her nail polish. 

She was nervous, but why? She'd watched up close the implosion of her childhood, the dissolution of the small-town ideals that she'd been raised with, faced murderers and drug dealers and monsters. She'd looked death itself in the face and nearly lost. Jughead was a part of Betty's past that she wanted to forget. His reappearance was inconvenient.

He walked in the door. He stood out from the crowd, his face a little brighter than the rest. Betty felt her breath catch. She waved quickly and he strode over to the bar and pulled up a stool.

"Hi," he said, his mouth snapping into a smile. Betty gathered all her height into her spine, folding upwards, a minor flex to remind him that she was no longer the old Betty.

"Hi, Jughead," she said. She let her nails tap on the bar surface as he ordered a beer.

"Of all the coffee shops in all the towns in all the world," he quipped with a lopsided grin, leaning on the bar. Betty rolled her eyes playfully, with a smile on her face.

"Is this the part where I say, 'we'll always have Riverdale,' " said Betty. Jughead's smile faltered for just a second before he caught himself.

"That part comes later," he said. Betty laughed nervously.

They sat awkwardly in their seats for moment, listening to Journey play over the soundsystem, and the tech bros sing along raucously in the back of the bar.

"Why did you invite me out, Jug," said Betty, dropping the smile and maintaining her posture.

"Can't a guy catch up with an old flame?" 

Betty shook her head. "So that's all I am to you." She laughed, bitterly, but it didn't feel like a joke. She regretted her remark when she saw the look on his face.

"No, Betty," was all he said. He took a swig of his beer, his eyes on her the whole time.

“So, what have you been up to, Jug?”

“Well, I'm still working on my novel--”

“Still?”

“Hey. It took William Golding five years to write _ Lord of the Flies _, and it took JRR Tolkien ten years--”

“I'm joking, Jug, you can take however long you want. How long have you been at the cafe?”

“A few months. Before that I was at Book Alley.”

“Really? Were you there during the protests?”

“Yeah, That was me, actually.”

"Really? You shut down Book Alley for fair wages? You're the reason I couldn't get ahold of the books I needed for my class on Zora Neale Hurston?"

"Yep," said Jughead. "Me and about 20 other employees blocking the entrance until they recognized our new union and gave us a workable contract."

“Oh my god, Jug,” grinned Betty, now utterly at ease. 

“And you, I bet you're popular at school."

“Not really,” Betty shrugged, taking another sip of her wine.

Jughead made an incredulous face. God, she'd forgotten all the little ways that he communicated, how his mouth crooked, how his shoulders hunched, and how easy it was to fall back into reading him like an open book.

“Jug,” she smile-sighed. “In Riverdale, I was caught up in the middle of everything. Here, I'm a small fish in a really big pond. An ocean, actually.”

Jughead's face straightened as he listened. She couldn't look at him, and fixed her gaze at a point above the liquor shelf.

“In Riverdale, I was the girl who solved Jason Blossom’s murder, the girl whose dad became a serial killer, and whose mom institutionalized her, the girl who was kidnapped by a cult, the girl who-- Anyway, no one really knows my past here. They just know who I am. And I like that. I can learn in peace, and get my work done, and no one bats an eye.”

“Yeah, I get that.” He took a swig of his beer. “So, do you make money writing?”

“Do you?” she countered playfully.

“Then how do you do it?”

“Oh, you don't wanna know.”

“No, I do! How have you been surviving in these increasingly uninhabitable environs?”

“Jug--”

“What, it's not like you had to become a stripper or anything,” he joked, swigging from his bottle.

Betty bit her lip. Jughead looked at her, and slowly lowered his beer.

“Betty, I--”

“Jug, it's-- I, um--”

“Wow.”

Betty heard the tone in his voice and felt a twinge of annoyance. She gave him the look. 

“It's a _ job _ , Jug. It's just _ work _, like any other job, like being a bookseller or a barista.”

“Except they don't get naked for money,” Jughead chuckled. He stopped when he saw Betty's face. He'd crossed a line. 

Betty scoffed and took out her wallet. Jug laid a staying hand on her arm, before pulling away when she flipped her hair menacingly. 

“I didn't come here to be judged by you, Jughead Jones.” She slapped a handful of bills down on the bar.

“Betty, I'm not--”

“It made sense, being a Serpent and solving murders back home. It made sense before everything went-- but New York is not a joke, my life is not a joke--”

“I didn't--”

“I know you haven't cared about me in a long time--” She got up off the stool, shrugged on her coat.

“Betty, wait a minute--”

She swung her bag over her shoulder, keys tinkling.

“It's almost 9, Jug, I've got to get ready for work.”

And Betty marched out without a backward glance at Jughead Jones.

* * *

The crowd roared as Archie stood beside Mad Dog and the referee held his raised, gloved fist in the air. They'd be celebrating their win that night with a glittering private party soaked in champagne.

"Jughead!" Archie exclaimed as his best friend crossed the brightly lit, bustling street to greet him outside Madison Square Garden.

"Hey, Arch," said Jughead, throwing an arm around his best friend and clapping him on the back. 

"I didn't realize you were coming into the city until it was too late, or I would've bought tickets to your match," Jughead said as they pulled apart.

"I woulda comped you one if I'd known you were around. Still working at Book Alley?"

"No, that was a while back. Now i'm at Caffe Morte." Jughead stuck his hands in his pockets. Archie unconsciously mirrored him.

"Still writing?" he asked.

"Yep. I um-- saw Betty. Today." 

"Woah," Archie breathed. He was suddenly reminded of his own run-in with the past. "How was that? Oh wait, uh, guess who owns the hotel where we're staying--"

"My, my, if it isn't Jughead Jones!" Both Jughead and Archie turned to see Veronica striding up to them in her strappy black heels. 

Jughead reached forward to embrace Veronica, who hugged him back.

"It's nice that _ someone _ is happy to see me," veronica said as they pulled apart. Archie made a pained face.

"What, I was happy," said Archie.

"You were nauseated--"

"You took me by surprise--"

"You turned green."

"It's been too long, Veronica," said Jughead. "Did you see the fight?"

"Yes! Mad Dog was fierce out there."

"Look, I gotta catch up to him, there's an afterparty--" said Archie, as he began to put distance between him and Veronica. But she was having none of it.

"I'll come with you," said Veronica. Archie sighed.

"Fine," he conceded. "But fair warning, Veronica, it's at a club, there will be girls--"

"I'm an _ adult _ , Archiekins, I've seen _ strippers _ before for God's sake."

"Wait, there will be strippers?" said Jughead, perking up.

* * *

Betty wound her hips in slow, hypnotic circles to the music. The club was dark, lit in red and blue neon, flashing strobes and slowly oscillating mirror balls. The lights dazzled the glitter that covered her body, from her cheeks and collarbones to her hips and ankles. 

She focused on the beats, dipping and twisting in a steadily escalating rhythm. She stepped around the pole with strong, confident steps, letting certain things do the work for her: her platformed stilettos elongated her legs, she need only relax into them, carving the air with her curves. She'd come a long way from the girl in her bedroom, or on the stage of the Whyte Wyrm.

She was getting ready to execute her best moves, the moves that made the money. Dipping down to the floor, opening her thighs, lying down and extending her legs upward and out like a fan, sexy and inviting but also impenetrable, like a marble statue.

She'd just caught the eye of a handsome man-- his dark brown skin looked puffed and shiny around his eye, had he been brawling? But he smiled kindly at her, almost as if he recognized her--

Betty swallowed, her stomach plummeting, as she looked toward the door. Three people had just walked in. 

Betty followed through her sexy, curvy motions and finished with a dirty flourish. The crowd of men in suits and tuxes-- they'd clearly just come from an event, and a raucous one at that, judging by the intensity of their thirst-- went wild, pulling money from their pockets and tossing it on the stage. Betty stepped behind the curtain, trading places with the next girls to take the stage in a choreographed act. She strode out into the club, straight toward Archie, Veronica, and Jughead.

"Betty," Veronica began. Betty was ready for her to disapprove, and ready to inform Veronica that, since they hadn't spoken in four years, Veronica really wasn't in a position to judge how Betty made her living.

Instead, Veronica grinned and pulled Betty into a hug, into a cloud of Chanel No. 9. Betty remained rigid, unsure whether to trust her, but Veronica clasped tight, and Betty could feel that it was more than a hug, it was a message. As Betty relaxed, Veronica said, "it's so good to see you. I miss you." Veronica smiled wide as she released Betty, who smiled back, trying to communicate all her apologies, and happiness, and desire to catch up.

"I hope you're happy, girl," said Veronica. Betty nodded and squeezed Veronica's arm, almost succumbing to the desperation to not let her go. 

Betty caught a glimpse of Archie's face. He looked uncertain.

"How are you, Betty," he said. 

"I'm good, really good."

"Mad Dog is here. He just won a fight at Madison Square Garden."

"That's amazing, Arch. Tell him I said congratulations," said Betty through her smile. She reached forward to give Archie a hug too, who accepted it awkwardly, wary of her exposed skin.

"Don't worry, Arch. It's taped in place."

Archie laughed nervously.

"We have a lot to catch up on," said Betty, settling her hands on her hips, and smiling at Archie and Veronica. She noted the hesitant energy between them. There was a lot the two of them needed to catch up on too, apparently.

Betty finally looked over at Jughead. He was looking her up and down, from her platform stilettos to her strappy leotard, her long blonde hair in a high ponytail. She found his expression unreadable. But she remembered how he'd joked about her work and felt the irritation flare up again.

"Betty," he said, stepping toward her. Simultaneously, she felt Archie and Veronica step away, giving them a little privacy. This irritated her further, though she wasn't sure why. She felt the muscles in her hands twitch, an old habit rearing its head.

"I should apologize. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Betty huffed and looked down at her shoes. "That's not--"

"I'm sorry for judging you. It's not my place."

"That's right, it's not." Said Betty in a clipped tone, raising her head to look at Jughead straight on. She crossed her arms over her chest. She felt naked as he looked at her.

"But you're still upset. Was it something else I said?"

"No--" Betty shook her head. She thought she might cry.

"Then what is it, Betty? Because we haven't really spoken in four years. Or do you still blame me for what happened?"

Betty's eyes welled up. Tears gathered on her black lashes. 

"I don't want to talk about it--"

"Well, maybe if you just said h--"

"I don't want to talk about her!" Betty snapped.

Jughead was stunned.

"I don't want to revisit it, okay?" said Betty, swiping at the tears that fell fast down her cheek. "That was four years ago."

"She was our girl. She was ours. And it's okay to miss her."

She felt her whole upper body constrict as he spoke. Tears were now running down her face freely. 

"Yes, Jug. Yes, I miss her. Every day. I miss her and I missed you but-- but--"

"But what, Betty?" Jughead's eyes were searching her face. She felt exposed but now it would pour out of her unless she stoppered it.

"I don't blame you," she sobbed. "I never did. She died because sometimes that's what babies do. Especially babies like ours. Babies born too soon."

"Betty," Jughead whispered. Now he looked like he might cry.

"But i knew," Betty continued. "That it couldn't be like it was after that-- we couldn't go back to how we were before her. I knew you couldn't ever look at me the same--"

"Betty," said Jughead, stepping right up to her, bringing his hands to her face, tilting it up. Sobs tumbled from inside her as he traced a thumb along her cheek.

"Betty, you were my light, four years ago. And when you walked into my cafe today, hell, Betty. It was like I'd been colorblind for four years, and all of a sudden there it was again. Dazzling, brilliant color. Betty, nothing could change how i feel about you. _ Nothing _."

Betty sniffled, wiping her face, careless of her makeup now. She pulled out of his grasp.

"Remember how you said we would push each other away until it stuck?"

Betty walked away but she looked back at Jughead, just once, before disappearing behind the black velvet curtain.

* * *

Archie and Veronica walked up Seventh Ave, along the wet, brightly lit street. The passing cars splashed through puddles in the road. Archie watched his breath make mist in the orange street light as they went.

"Well, it looked like Betty and Jughead needed to talk," said Veronica, hugging her coat around her against the November chill.

"Yeah. It ended so badly between them," Archie sighed, remembering distantly. Betty's tear-streaked face, Jughead's sullen look. The summer before college. 

"Their daughter died. So suddenly." Veronica shook her head. "To be a teenaged mom like that, to go from losing your baby girl, straight into freshman year. That’s a lot."

"Were you still in touch with her?" Archie asked. He felt an old guilt stirring. He glanced at a silhouetted someone in a doorway, the smoke from their cigarette curling into the night.

"She’d stopped talking to all of us by then," Veronica sighed.

"God, she must be doing really bad if she’s dancing," said Archie. He realized he was still shocked to see Betty like that, in that place. 

"She looked good to me, if a little sad to see us." Veronica shrugged. "I don’t think her job is an indication of her doing badly. But I do think seeing us makes her sad, because we remind her of everything she lost." Veronica paused, biting her lip.

"I think we all remind each other of everything we've lost," she said quietly.

Archie looked at Veronica. She stopped them on the sidewalk, and looked at him directly.

"I mean, think of all the dreams we had back then. You wanted to be a musician, I wanted to turn over a new leaf, Betty wanted to be a cheerleader, and Jughead wanted to be a writer." 

"That was a long time ago." Archie turned from her and continued walking. Veronica caught up with him, walking beside him.

"Right, before everything went to hell. Before my dad wrecked everything. Before Betty’s dad went Ted Bundy on all of us, before the Gargoyle King. I mean, no wonder we couldn’t-- we’ve all just seen too much."

There was silence as their shoes clacked against the pavement.

"How have you really been, Archie," said Veronica.

Archie thought back to the hotel, to Mad Dog, his almost-constant companion these last few years. He chuckled.

"I've literally never been better than I am right now." He smiled to himself briefly. "I've been playing again," said Archie. "Just picking up the guitar when me and Mad Dog are on the road. He plays harmonica sometimes."

"Are you writing songs," asked Veronica.

"Yeah. Sometimes words come to me, about the things I’ve seen. They’re kind of like blues songs in that way, I guess."

"I’ve been singing too," said Veronica quietly. They’d stopped in front of her hotel. She smiled like she had something up her sleeve, something Archie hadn't realized he'd missed until he looked at her. "Can I show you something?"

They went up the elevator to the top floor. Archie drew breath as he entered her penthouse. It was classy and sleek. Copper surfaces, hard wood floors, delicate light fixtures. If working with his dad had taught him anything, it was how to appreciate interior craftsmanship.

"Through here," said Veronica, leading him down a hall and through a door on the left. He found himself in beautiful, brightly lit recording studio. New equipment, beautiful instruments. He was suddenly aware of how much money he was standing in. Well over a million dollars had gone into this room alone, forget the penthouse and the hotel business. Archie swallowed.

"Archie," said Veronica as she went into the booth and shut the door, leaving him in the soundproofed recording area. She pressed a button, and her voice came over the speaker. 

"If you ever felt like reaching for some of your dreams again, I want you to know that you can come here." She took her hand off the button, and put a pair of headphones on.

Archie looked back at Veronica, through the window into the booth. He shook his head, laughing. His heart skipped a beat. Her generosity. He’d forgotten.

"That’s not the only dream I had," he said, turning away from her, gently running a hand over a mint green limited edition Fender Stratocaster from 1959. 

Veronica pressed the button, speaking into the mic.

"What other dream did you have, Archie?"

"To marry you, he said." He looked at her again, finally, his eyebrows raised. He was surprised he'd let it come out of his mouth. But it was too easy to fall back into their old ways, as if the last four years had never happened. He felt a little courageous, and a little reckless. She looked a little taken aback, before she caught herself and smiled. The speaker crackled into life as she spoke into the mic.

"I remember," her voice came softly into the room.

"But you said your dad--"

"He would never have agreed. He never would have let us. But, Archie-- he’s dying."

Archie glanced away, at the vintage Korg keyboard. Veronica took off the headphones, left the sound booth and entered the room. The quiet between them was loud.

"I don’t know how long he has," she whispered as she stepped closer. He could hear every sound she made.

"I’m sorry, Veronica," said Archie as he approached her.

"Thank you," she said, slipping gentle hands into his. She looked up at him with big brown eyes.

"I never wanted to say no," she breathed. Archie exhaled, pressed his forehead against hers. To be so close to her-- It was better than any dream he’d ever had. He let go of her hands and pulled away.

Veronica looked a little confused as he reached into his pocket. 

Slowly, Archie stepped forward again and slipped the ring onto her middle finger.

"For now," he said. "I hope you’ll wear this and remember what I’m going to say to you tonight."

Veronica's deep brown eyes searched his face. Her brow knitted. She glanced at his lips.

"That I have been waiting, and will wait-- until you give the green light. Because it has always been you, Veronica. And it will always be you."

Veronica’s lips parted just as Archie bent down and pressed a long-awaited, long-time-coming kiss against her lips. He felt like he ought to have flashbacks to high school, to their dark past. Instead he felt only the lightness of possibility, of the future. 


	2. Part 2: This Christmas

Betty boarded the night bus-- or the ghost bus, as she liked to call it-- at Greendale Terminal. The last stop on the express train out of Penn. The lights of the night bus buzzed in the darkness, as if they fought against being swallowed by the black night. Betty sat back as the bus rolled forward. She felt distinctly as if she'd forgotten something, but she didn't know where and she didn't know when. Her brow furrowed, but she remained listless in the scratchy fabric seat. One arm was draped over her duffel bag. Her mouth felt stale. Her skin felt greasy. She closed her eyes. She'd be in Riverdale by dawn. It had been a long time.

* * *

Archie sat in his kitchen and fingered the fine cardstock of the invitation that had arrived a week before. 

_ You are invited to attend the memorial service and public burial of HIRAM LODGE this Tuesday, December 23rd, 2024. _

He sighed, rubbed his chin stubble, laid the invitation once more on his kitchen table. He closed his eyes. His thoughts felt like jagged pieces of glass. His mind flashed--

\--meeting Veronica's brown eyes for the first time under the neon lights at Pop's--

\--Hiram's stone-cold glare as Archie handed back the keys to the blue Firebird--

\--watching from behind a chain link fence and several rows of barbed wire as Veronica danced in a cheerleader uniform, surrounded by River Vixens on the other side--

\--Hiram's bloody, swollen face as he grabbed a fistful of Archie's hair, seconds away from landing a killing blow--

\--Hiram's face as he slept, as Archie gathered the courage to shoot him as he lay in his hospital bed--

Archie shook his head and opened his eyes to find Jughead standing in his kitchen in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt.

Jughead motioned to the invitation as he opened the fridge and took out a carton of milk.

"Always felt like he was immortal, didn't it?" He opened the cereal cupboard, took down a box of cornflakes.

"I always pictured him being taken out by a rival mobster, or living into his 90s. They'd call him the Grandfather," he chuckled as he poured cereal into his bowl. It popped as he poured milk in. He spooned a mouthful, speaking around it. 

"But to be felled by something as mundane as cancer? On top of being impoverished after the FBI put him behind bars? To die in a penitentiary infirmary? That's just adding insult to injury." He swallowed and looked idly into his bowl as he shifted his cereal around with his spoon, leaning on the counter. He looked up at Archie, who was staring at him, with not a little hint of amused disbelief.

"You okay, Arch? I'm sorry, I know you had a complicated relationship with him--"

"I'm good," said Archie. He chuckled. "It's just nice to have someone else in the house."

Jughead smiled. "It's good to be home." He looked down into his cereal bowl pensively. 

"It feels like a chapter closing for this town," he said seriously. Archie nodded, standing up straight.

"Yeah I feel like we've been done with the whole book for a while now," said Archie. "Better get dressed."

* * *

Betty dropped her coat and duffel bag on the floor of Veronica's Pembrooke pent house. The sun was now shining full-tilt through the fine drapes, illuminating the gilt-edged furniture, the painted wallpaper, the polished brass wall sconces. She smiled a hello as Veronica walked out of her room in a silk robe, pushing her mussed black hair away from her face. She gave her best friend a hug.

Betty squeezed Veronica tight before letting go. 

Veronica inclined her head toward the dining room. 

"Come on," she said, "there's breakfast."

Over a spread of croissants, brioche, muffins, butter, berry confits, sliced grapefruit, strawberries, yogurt, bacon, eggs, orange juice, and deep ceramic cups of cafe au lait, Veronica and Betty sat down.

"I don't know how I've lived this long without a milk frother at home," joked Betty, helping herself to a little of everything. Veronica gave a soft chuckle, but her heart wasn't in it. Betty tilted her head and reached across the table to lay a hand over her friend's.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Vee. I'm so sorry this was how it had to happen, and I'm sorry I waited this long to reconnect with you."

Veronica gave her friend a grateful smile, covering her hands with her own, gripping tight.

"I'm just glad you're here, Bee." She sighed, and let go, picking up a croissant and studying it before putting it down on her plate.

"How's your mom doing?" said Betty. "I bet the news hit her hard."

"We knew he was sick for a long time. She helped make sure we kept as much of Lodge industries intact as possible when he was arrested and investigated. Everything has been under my name since I started the hotel, and I've divested from his more unsavory operations."

Veronica eyed Betty.

"What about you? I mean, have you been back since--"

"No," said Betty. 

"And how has it been?"

"Hard. Really hard. She would have been four and a half by now. She would have had my eyes and Jughead's-- Jughead's smile. I just want to forget, you know?"

"Well," said Veronica. "You are in for a lot of remembering this weekend. Are you ready?"

"I don't know, Vee."

"Regardless," said Veronica. "You've got me and you've got Archie. And no matter how much you push him away, you'll always have Jughead." 

Veronica arched her eyebrows.

"What you two shared can't be buried."

Veronica sat back in her chair and sipped from her cup of coffee.

"Unlike my dad." She smiled ruefully. "I mean, what was he going to do, anyway? Retire from the mafia?"

* * *

Betty took a deep steadying breath and grabbed hold of the combination lock. _She didn't have to_, she thought. She could walk away right now, never think about this storage unit again. Her hands trembled slightly as she turned the knob. 06-15-20. The lock clicked open and Betty had a brief flashback to her high school locker. She unhooked the lock, flipped open the latch, gripped the bottom of the gate and pulled up. It lifted effortlessly as it rolled on its rails. Betty gazed around at the objects inside, the hallway light penetrating the dark corners.

Boxes full of detritus from her childhood. Dolls and rompers. Stacks of murder mysteries and horror novels. Pearl's crib and mobile, the blanket she'd been swaddled in when they brought her home. Photographs of her and Polly and mom and the twins. There were even a few photos of her dad. They were tucked into the bottom, forgotten. Photographs of her and Archie, Kevin and Cheryl, Veronica and Toni. And Jughead. Candid polaroids, posed group pics, arm in arm, laughing, smiling, kissing, cheezing. 

Betty thought back to the years she'd spent in New York, going to class in the mornings, studying in the library all afternoon, dancing all night to make enough money to do it again. How it all felt like a dream that she'd sleep-walked through, a plastic smile plastered on her face so that no one would ask her too many questions. So that no one would get too close. _ I'm from a town up north, you've never heard of it, _ she'd say at parties, making small talk while sipping a PBR in someone’s loft off Metropolitan Ave. _ The usual small-town stuff _ , she'd say when pressed. Homecoming queens, quarterbacks, mean girls, the whole shebang. _I worked on the paper_, she'd say brusquely, putting an end to the conversation. But it was everything that she left unsaid, the life she’d put away like she'd put away the photos and the crib in the storage unit. It was possible, even likely, that the last time she'd felt alive was when she was a teenager, solving real-life mysteries with Jughead, with real-life, frightening consequences. Escaping life-threatening situations by the skin of her teeth alongside Archie and Veronica. Watching as the soundstage walls of her childhood fell away and revealed to her the tenacious love of her family and friends in the face of unimaginable tragedy. 

She'd turned her back on them to protect them from the darkness of her grief. She'd wanted to forget, but she didn't. She never could. She'd convinced herself she'd felt nothing, but it was all still there, just under the surface, and it all came alive when the light hit it, and there was no choice but to let it be part of her life again, and for her to be a part of it, and she might be in tremendous, heart-splitting pain, but she'd never felt more whole.

* * *

Jughead and Archie climbed down from the old truck. Archie had kept her running smoothly in honor of his dad, and she'd never failed him. The two of them, dressed in black suits and black ties and white shirts, entered the cemetery gate and began climbing the hill, leaning into the icy December wind. A light flurry of snowflakes fell.

Jughead didn't feel all that sorry at all to see Hiram in the ground. After all the evil he'd visited on the town (Jughead kept up-to-date on the latest activist efforts to close the prison Hiram had built), and how he'd manipulated Veronica, and tortured Archie, he was sure he wasn't the only one who was relieved, perhaps even happy, to bury the Man in Black.

Jughead was more looking forward to finding out what the town was up to since he'd absconded to New York. Where were they now? Were they mourning? Celebrating? How did they feel about the death of Riverdale's Godfather, Long-Arm Lodge, a mobster comparable perhaps only to Teflon Don and Bugs Moran?

Jughead felt insatiably curious, and eager to craft a narrative, but he felt something else too. Butterflies. Nausea. He would see Betty again. She might not talk to him. Might not want anything to do with him at all, actually. But he'd see her. They might never be as they once were, not when she'd been so hurt by Riverdale, by the loss of their daughter, by him, that she could never open up to him again. But he thought, as long as she was alive somewhere in the world, he could bear the weight of his life.

Jughead shut his eyes. He could still see her, four years ago: lit by the colored lights in the gym, illuminating the gauzy chiffon of her dress that fell around her round belly. how the light made her hair like a halo, how it brightened her cheeks as she smiled. Some people might look at a teen mom at her senior prom and feel pity, or outrage. But Betty just looked beatific. She looked like a goddess, or a saint. He knew, looking at her then, that he’d never get over her.

He opened his eyes. He was still walking up the cemetery hill alongside Archie. Memories came to him in waves now, as if a levee had broken--

\--Betty onstage at the Whyte Wyrm--

\--Wearing sweats and rocking Pearl to sleep--

\--Blonde hair swept up in an uncharacteristically messy ponytail as she bent over SAT practice tests, one hand resting on her growing belly--

\--Her hand shaking, pressed to her mouth, open in a silent 'o' of grief, tears streaming down her face, as their infant daughter was swaddled one last time by a nurse in white scrubs, under the harsh fluorescent light of the natal ICU--

"Jug--" Archie hissed. _Come on_, he mouthed, urging Jughead to catch up and join the small crowd of mourners they'd come upon, gathered under an old oak tree. 

Jughead took in a sharp breath as he drew close to the mourners. There, beside the minister, stood Veronica, in a sober black, but seductively cut, sheath dress. She’d thrown a fine wool coat over her ensemble. Beside her stood Betty, her long blonde hair swept up into a ponytail, her makeup subtle but perfect. She too wore a wool coat over her lush black velvet dress. Betty glanced at Jughead before looking back into the grave. Jughead wondered how many more times they’d have to stand over graves altogether. He hoped this would be the last time for a while.

The minister raised his arms, as Jughead and Archie joined the crowd. 

“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes,” he intoned dramatically. “And there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. Neither shall there be any more pain. For the _ former _ things have passed away.”

Jughead tuned in and out. On the other side of the grave stood the current mayor, former sheriff Tom Keller. Beside him stood his son. Jughead remembered reading in the Register that Kevin was now a city councilman. A few rows behind them, Jughead spotted Cheryl’s bright red hair, now shorn on one side, and her wife Toni. The last he’d heard, they’d opened a gay bar together, and it was doing well.

It seemed as if everyone from Riverdale had come out to say a final goodbye to Riverdale’s most infamous Don. He was sure he wasn’t the only one not sorry to see him go.

* * *

Veronica waited for Archie to catch up after the service. She was wiping tears from her face with an elegantly gloved hand.

“He might have been the worst, but he’s still my dad,” said Veronica. Archie wordlessly put an arm around her. Together they peeled off from the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jughead walk off with Betty, and hoped they were finally having the talk they needed to have.

"Shall we walk to Pop’s?" said Archie. Veronica nodded. "I could use a burger and fries," she said. 

"And a shake," Archie finished.

"And a shake," Veronica laughed. 

They strode in silence for a while, before Archie spoke again, clearing his throat.

“Your dad once said 'boyfriends come and go, but fathers are forever.'”

Veronica scoffed. “It's so like him to think he's immortal. Or, it was.”

“His reach was long,” Archie shrugged. Veronica could tell that he was doing his best not to let his worry show. “It's not unreasonable to think it might extend beyond the grave. That he might still have people looking after his deals, finishing jobs, carrying on his legacy. Are you sure it's safe to pick up where we left off?”

Veronica sighed. She could feel something happening, a quickening of life, like the turning of seasons. Events beyond her control were taking place, and it terrified her to let go of the wheel. She looked up at Archie and was reassured by the very breadth of his shoulders and the depth of his hazel eyes. 

“Archie, boyfriends come and go, and fathers die. But diamond rings are forever. And husbands can be too, if they want.”

She smiled as Archie smiled.

* * *

Betty and Jughead walked beside the graves. Betty was painfully aware that Pearl’s grave was close. She knew that Jug felt it too. She paused in the grass. Jughead stopped and looked back at her.

"Do you want to," he said.

Betty looked into the distance, in the direction she knew her daughter’s grave to be. She nodded.

They continued to walk side by side in silence before Betty spoke.

"I went to my storage locker today," she said. Jughead was silent.

"I looked at the photos I keep there. The crib."

Betty could feel Jughead wincing. 

"I don’t want to not know you, Jug," said Betty softly, her voice cracking. She wanted to say more, but she felt her throat close as her eyes threatened tears.

Pearl’s grave was in sight. They approached it and Betty felt an old desire to become numb, to turn off her feelings. To be stone like the stone on her daughter’s grave. To not even feel the warmth of Jug’s hand on her arm. She fought this desire, this old strategy, with all her might. She eased herself into her feelings. She found that the grief came back easily. It occurred to her that it might never have gone away. And maybe that was okay. Because the grave was still here. And Jughead was still here. All these thoughts came to her calmly, even as she felt the sobs rack her body, as the tears spilled wetly down her face, soaking the collar of her wool coat. She let herself feel Jug’s hands holding tight to her arm, to her shoulder, anchoring her to Earth. She felt the vibration in her throat as the keening broke free from her chest, as her cries echoed into the air above her daughter’s grave. she could swear the sound shook the snow from the boughs of the evergreen trees.

When she felt like she could not cry anymore, she pushed herself off the ground. She wasn’t sure when she’d fallen to her knees. But she stood, and Jughead propped her up with his own arms. Looking up she saw that his own face was wet and red and puffy from weeping. And she realized that she’d never shared this grief with him. They’d done something this day that they’d never done before. Cry together for their lost daughter.

As their breathing returned to normal, and the tears dried on their faces, their walking fell into step, and it seemed that even their hearts were beating in unison once again. She felt a little stronger now, so that she did not need to be supported by Jughead. But she found her hand in his. Not Betty leaning on Jughead, or Jughead leaning on Betty, but both of them holding onto each other, anchoring each other, tethered in space and time as equals. And she knew that she was still going to be sad sometimes. And she knew that he was still going to be sad sometimes. And that was going to be okay, because they were going to be sad sometimes together, side by side.

They came finally to the door of Pop’s, and Betty looked up into Jughead’s face. He looked down into her’s. 

After all these years and everything that happened, she hadn't expected to be here again. To see Jughead again. To feel like a raw, open nerve. The word “sorry” was on her tongue, but Jughead shook his head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “Only that--” he took hold of Betty’s other hand, so that they clasped hands together in front of Pop’s front door. “You should just know that--”

“I know,” said Betty. “I’ve known since Brooklyn, I think.”

Jughead nodded. “Then you know what I’m going to say.”

“I do, Jug. But I want to hear it. I want to hear you say it.” Her eyes flitted down to his lips. And their time together felt like one unbroken line. She looked back up into his eyes.

“We have a second chance. A new beginning. I don’t know if this is the universe, or Hiram, or what. I just know that this is once-in-a-lifetime.”

“What are you trying to say, Jug,” asked Betty, with equal parts fear and hope in her throat.

“I’m saying, Betty, that there was only ever one girl for me. And there will only ever be one woman for me. And that’s you. And that I will stay or go at your say-so.”

“Well, I say so.”

“Do you,” asked Jughead, laughing. He brought his hands up to cup Betty’s face, and kissed her on the forehead. He pressed it with his own. They shut their eyes.

* * *

Archie and Veronica sat in their old booth, their faces illuminated by the pink neon lights, the twilight sky throwing a blue light over their world, snow swirling outside the window. Their heads were bent together in conspiratorial happiness. The neon lights glinted off Veronica’s ring, shining in Archie’s eyes, Veronica’s smile. They looked up as Betty and Jughead approached the table, their own faces alight with joy, their hands clasped tightly. Archie and Veronica both grinned broadly. Archie motioned to the table staggering under the weight of burgers and fries and onion rings and shakes. 

“Sit down, you guys,” he said, beaming. 

Veronica stood and threw her arms around her best friend and hugged her tight. Betty squeezed her back before sitting down to the table. She reached for a shake. A soft, fuzzy Christmas song played over the radio.


End file.
